


Heavy Fragmentation

by methaemoglobinemia (crimsonherbarium)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Artist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Carl's Funeral, Coping, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Grieving, M/M, Pacifist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Canon, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Wakes & Funerals, simon is a good supportive boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 00:17:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17032647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/methaemoglobinemia
Summary: In the wake of the changes brought on by the android revolution, Markus takes some time to come to terms with the things he's lost.





	Heavy Fragmentation

Markus knew it was coming. He’d known for a while before it happened. He’d been there _when_ it had happened, which was of some small comfort to him in the days following. He hadn’t been there to care for Carl in his final days, but he’d made it home in time to hold his hand as he breathed his last. And for that he was grateful. 

That didn’t make it any easier to accept that he was gone. That he would never again sit with the man who had been a father to him, be able to seek out his counsel, share in the joy of being alive, truly alive, with him. With the urgency of the revolution behind him, Markus found himself searching for Carl in those empty moments. Looking to him for guidance. 

Instead, he was met with empty air. 

Markus knew the funeral arrangements. They’d been planned for some time now. He’d been there when they were made. He’d driven Carl to his attorney’s office, stood beside him as he’d signed the papers. And so, on Tuesday, November 16, he dressed in a smart black suit. He smoothed the lines from his shirt, made sure his tie was done just so. He shrugged on a heavy black wool overcoat. Outside, snow drifted softly down on a shell-shocked Detroit. 

Simon came with him, as Markus ventured out into the snow. They sat silently beside each other in the auto-taxi. Simon didn’t speak, didn’t make eye contact—Markus could tell the other man was trying to give him space, perhaps wasn’t sure how best to help. None of them had ever lost a parent before. Eventually, Simon reached across the empty seat between them and covered Markus’s hand with his own. Markus squeezed back numbly, staring out at the white blur of the city rushing by.

Despite the weather, the turnout of mourners was in the hundreds. Carl had been influential, beloved in the local community. He had friends on every rung of the social ladder, fans from all corners of the world. Markus stood to the side, several rows back from the special seating for Carl’s family and close friends. He held his head high and made an effort to still his trembling lip as a man he barely recognized gave an ill-fitting eulogy. Carl would have hated it. It was too grandiose, too threaded with religious imagery. Markus knew this. He’d known him better than anyone.

The casket sat at the forefront, its black lacquer in stark contrast with the bouquet of white lilies that sat atop it. A monolith of black marble stood at the head of the grave. It was simple, no embellishment—a name and two dates. No nonsense. Just like Carl had been. 

Markus noticed some familiar faces in the sea of mourners. At the forefront, Elijah Kamski, flanked by an ST200 in a slim black dress. Beside him, Leo. Markus's lip twitched upon seeing him there—remembering the near-constant anguish his actions had caused Carl, the harm his actions had personally done to Markus himself. Unconsciously, he found himself raising a hand to touch his single blue eye. Simon laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

The eulogist eventually ran out of wind. With a creak and a hum, a hidden mechanism began to lower the casket into the ground. Markus made a fist and clenched his jaw as it slowly sank out of view. Not here. Not now. He blinked back the sheen of water that threatened to well up in his eyes, staring resolutely ahead as Leo stepped forward and cast the first handful of earth into the open grave. 

The funeral was over before Markus really registered what was happening. The moments passed him over as he stood rooted to the ground, feeling the full weight of everything that had happened over the last few weeks settle onto his shoulders. Simon stood patiently by his side, not pressuring him to speak or move. 

At last, the majority of the mourners had gone and the grounds crew arrived to fill in the hole. Simon reached down and took Markus's hand, giving it a squeeze. 

“Markus,” he said gently. “It's time to go.”

Markus shook his head, mouth twisting as he squinched his eyes closed. He fought hard against the rising tide of emotion that threatened to burst out of him. 

“I...” He tried to force his voice to come out right. “I can't leave him, Simon—” He choked on his words. The tears welled up and spilled over, running down his face. Simon wrapped an arm around him, pulling Markus into a comforting embrace. Markus buried his face in Simon's shoulder, his shoulders shaking with the force of holding back his sobs. 

“Listen, um...Markus?” A familiar voice, one he hadn't expected to ever hear speak his name again. Markus pulled away from Simon, forcing himself to take a deep breath and roughly wipe the tears from his eyes. Leo stood awkwardly a few feet away from them, looking down at his feet. His knit beanie was at odds with his funeral suit and polished shoes. Simon kept a protective hand on Markus's shoulder as the two of them faced Carl's flesh and blood. 

Leo rubbed his temple anxiously. “I, uh. I know this probably doesn't mean much, coming from me. But I'm sorry. For what happened.” He grimaced. “I was in a bad place. Got mixed up with the wrong people. It's not an excuse, but it's what happened. That night...it was a wake-up call. I got clean. Dropped the shit I was doing. I don't want to ever be that person again.” He scuffed the snow with his boot. “I, uh, I joined a program. And part of it is making amends to the people you've hurt. So yeah, I just—I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. For everything.”

Markus looked blankly back at him, tears half-frozen to his cheeks.

“You don't have to forgive me,” Leo said. “I probably wouldn't forgive me either. But if you ever...I mean, if you need to get in touch with me...” He struggled awkwardly with his words for a moment. “—Here,” he said, thrusting a piece of paper with some numbers scrawled on it at Markus. 

Markus took it numbly and pocketed it. “I'll...think about it.”

“Thank you.” Leo looked as if he were struggling with something again. “I'll leave you alone now. One more thing though—I think dad left you something. In the will. You should go see his lawyer, if you have time. I mean—”

“Thanks,” Simon cut him off. “We will.”

Leo nodded, and shuffled off into the snow.

~~~~~~

Markus sat stiffly in the elegant leather chair in the antechamber of Carl's lawyer's office. He felt out of place, out of time. He'd been here before, but that had been another life entirely. Everything about him hand changed since he'd last set foot in this building. No more LED. No more vest. No more glowing armband that loudly proclaimed “ANDROID” and marked him as other. The casual observer would likely never have guessed.

The chair next to his was empty. There was a glass of water set on the small table between the two—brought to him by the secretary, who either had simply forgotten or didn't know any better. He hadn't had the heart to say anything. 

Markus glanced at the empty chair. His mind filled in the gaps, reconstructed old memories and made them solid. The ghost of Carl Manfred sat beside him, gazing at a newspaper with a bored expression. 

_“Why are you doing this, Carl?”_ Markus mouthed along with his memory. 

_“Because there's no telling what the future holds. Look at me.”_ He gestured down at himself. _“I'm an old man. I'm not gonna be around forever. Better to get my affairs in order while I still have my wits about me.”_

 _“I don't understand,”_ Markus said, a bemused expression on his face. 

Carl smiled sadly. _“Nor should you.”_

“Mr. Manfred?” A voice broke through, and the memory dissolved into specks of shimmering light. Markus blinked, struggling to come back to himself. 

“I'm sorry—what?”

“Mr. Neilsson will see you now.”

Markus stood, glancing back over his shoulder at the empty chair where Carl had once sat before following the secretary into the lawyer's office. It was a lovely room—dark wood furniture, floor to ceiling shelves filled with richly bound books. Tasteful art on the walls—Markus recognized with a twinge that some of it was Carl's. 

He found himself sitting in another chair, this time across from a haggard middle-aged man with thinning hair and tired eyes. 

“Thank you for coming,” the attorney said, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “My condolences for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Markus said quietly. 

“I'll get straight to the point, if you don't mind.” The attorney pulled out a sheaf of paper and leafed through it. “From the last will and testament of Mr. Carl Manfred—”

Markus tuned out most of it. He couldn't help it. It was like his brain had shut down to protect itself, blocking out any words that made it more concrete, more real. He stared past the attorney's head, reading the spines of the books on the shelf behind him. _King Lear. Macbeth. The Art of War—_

“To my son, Markus Manfred, I leave my house and all of the possessions therein. I also leave an account that has been established in his name to help with the expenses of maintaining it. Additionally, I grant him ownership of the rights to all my artwork, in the hopes that it will inspire him to continue to create for himself.”

“...Sorry, what?” Markus blinked. “He...left me the house?”

“That is correct.” The attorney set the papers down on the desk and leaned back in his chair. 

Markus's expression was one of utter confusion. “But...what about Leo?”

“Leo Manfred has been bequeathed an equal sum of money as well as Mr. Manfred's second home in upstate New York.” The attorney steepled his fingers. 

“I...Never thought...” Markus trailed off. “When did he do this?”

“A little over a week ago. I advised him against rewriting his will, but he was adamant. Said something had changed.” The man shrugged. 

Markus took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “So what now?”

~~~~~~

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

Markus and Simon stood on the snow-covered walkway, looking up at the empty windows of the house. It had taken several days for Markus to muster the courage to come home. The very bricks and boards of the house were steeped in memories. He was frightened of what they might stir up.

“Yeah,” Markus replied in a tone that made it very clear that he wasn’t. “I think it’s time.”

He walked forward. When he reached the front stoop, the porch light came on and the door unlocked with a familiar chime. _“Alarm deactivated,”_ a robotic voice said cheerfully. _“Welcome home, Markus.”_ The door swung inward.

Markus stepped hesitantly over the threshold, Simon close behind him. The interior of the house was darkened; the lights came on in the hall as they entered. Not much had changed since he was last there. Markus’s old vest still hung on the coat rack in the foyer. Leo’s last message still blinked, unacknowledged, on the answering machine. Two yellow android canaries sat motionless in their cage. 

Their steps echoed back at them as they ventured further into the house. The door to the living room slid open as they approached. Markus trailed his fingers along the edge of the liquor cabinet. 

Simon broke away from him, eyes wide as he took in the towering ceiling, the enormous stuffed giraffe, the piano, the mismatched furniture…

A lot of it had been gifts. Carl hadn’t been the kind of person who went out of his way to hire interior designers. The house was a hodge-podge of seemingly unrelated things that inexplicably came together to show off the artist’s personality. Markus came up upon the chess board, still set from their game weeks ago, and stopped short. 

_“One day, I won’t be here to take care of you anymore,”_ Carl’s ghost said from his wheelchair on one side of the board. _“You’ll have to protect yourself, and make your choices. Decide who you are, and want to become.”_ The glimmering construct leaned forward. _“This world doesn’t like those who are different, Markus. Don’t let anyone tell you who you should be.”_

“Markus.” Simon’s hand on his shoulder, and he started. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I…” Markus trailed off. The memory dissolved. “Yeah.”

“We can come back later, if you—”

“It’s okay. Really.” Markus made an effort to look like he was fine. “It’s just a lot to process.” He crossed to the piano, sliding a hand along the polished wood. He pressed a few keys with his fingertips, the sound they made tiny and weak and swallowed by the empty air. 

“What’s through there?” Simon asked, nodding at the door to the studio. 

“I’ll show you.” Markus took his hand and led him through. He turned on the lights and the curtains drew back, revealing a world covered in snow. If not for the faint lines separating the panes of glass that made up the room, it might have appeared as if they were standing outside. 

“It’s…incredible,” Simon gasped. 

Markus smiled wanly. “We used to spend a lot of time here.” 

The towering canvas that Carl had been working on on that last day was still there. Markus drew back the drapes that covered it, exposing it to the light. It was his last, best work, and it remained unfinished. 

“It reminds me of yours,” Simon said, looking up at the abstract swirls of blue and silver. 

“I learned from the best,” Markus replied. He looked sadly at the robotic lift that had allowed Carl to work at this scale unassisted. 

_“They’ll destroy you, Markus! You gotta go—get outta here!”_ Carl’s shimmering blue construct shouted at Markus from the floor. A few scattered dots of light suggested Leo’s unconscious form on the ground beside him. 

_“Carl, no!”_ Markus begged. _“No, please, I don’t want to leave you—please, I can’t—I don’t want to leave you—”_ In the present, Markus pressed both hands to his head, his stress level skyrocketing. 

_“Get out!”_ Carl roared. _“Now—Go!”_

Markus remembered nothing from that night but pain. Being pushed away by the man who was his father. A bullet through the eye. Waking up half-dead in the junkyard, his entire life crumbled down around him. But looking at Carl now...his expression was not one of hatred, or even of anger. It was fear. Fear for what was about to happen to Markus. Fear for what was going to become of Leo. 

In a way, Carl had lost them both that night. 

“Markus, what’s this?” Simon pointed to a canvas on an easel by the door. Markus looked up with a shocked intake of air. 

“It’s...mine.” He came to stand beside Simon in front of it. “The first thing I ever painted.” There was a lump in his throat. Carl had kept it. Made a point of displaying it. Markus felt the smallest glimmer of pride.

“It’s lovely.” 

“Thanks.” The hint of a smile curled Markus’s lips. “Come on, I’ll show you upstairs.” 

Markus led Simon out of the studio, back to the foyer, and up the stairs to the balcony overlooking the living room. The grandeur of the architecture was only more evident from a distance. Markus pointedly avoided looking toward the door that led to Carl’s room. There were still some things he wasn’t ready for yet. He didn’t want to remember anything from that night. Not now. Not here, in the thick of it all, where his memories were near-indistinguishable from the present. 

He turned right instead, toward a door at the other end of the hallway. Inside was a bedroom, furnished with modern but cozy furniture. It wasn’t much—a bed, a nightstand, a dresser, a closet that still contained several sets of clothes. 

“What was this?” Simon said, looking around. 

“This...was my room.” Markus crossed and sat on the ink blue duvet, looking down at his own clasped hands. 

_“Your room?”_ Simon repeated, eyes wide with awe. 

Markus nodded. 

“What are you going to do with all this, Markus?”

“I don’t know.” Markus rubbed at his temple with stressed fingers. “I never thought…” He trailed off. “What would he have wanted me to do with it, Simon?” A note of panic bled into his voice as he floundered for meaning.

Simon sank down onto the mattress next to him. “You had a bed,” he said in a tiny voice. 

Shame washed over Markus like a flood. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t...it’s wrong of me to complain. It’s wrong of me to have any of this in the first place.” He made a fist. “I shouldn’t be here. I should be with our people, in New Jericho. There’s still so much that needs to be done—“

“Markus, stop.” Simon shook his head. “I’m sorry. I just…” He gestured at the room around them. “This...all of this. He really loved you.”

Markus smiled sadly, eyes pricking with tears. “Yeah.” He leaned into Simon and rested his head on the other man’s shoulder. Simon wrapped an arm around him and rested his cheek on top of Markus’s head. 

“You don’t always have to know the answer, Markus.” Simon hugged him close. “I think that’s just…part of being alive.”

~~~~~~

Henry Ford Commemorative Park.

Markus had come here many, many times over the years—usually on his way to fetch supplies for Carl from Bellini Paints. He’d not known to appreciate it, then, but it was a lovely spot. A peaceful walled haven in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the city. 

Sorting through old memories, Markus decided he preferred it best in autumn, when the trees were painted in rich shades of ochre and umber. Few leaves clung to the branches now, in the dead of winter, their forms withered and crumpled close to their stems. 

It had been spring, the last time he’d brought Carl here. They’d sat together on this very bench and watched the world go by. Carl had seemed to be waiting for something—inspiration? An answer? Markus didn’t know. He hadn’t even thought to ask. 

_“Look there,”_ Carl had said unprompted after almost half an hour of silence. _“Look at how the light filters through the leaves. The way the shadows dapple the grass. The sunlight is only made lovelier by the obstacles it has to pass on its way to the ground.”_

Markus had looked at him expectantly, unsure of what to say. 

Carl continued to ponder for a while and then sighed. _“You know, sometimes I wonder what’s going on inside that head of yours.”_

“ _My social relations program is—_ ”

Carl waved him off. _“That’s not what I meant, Markus. I mean you. Not your programming, not whatever Kamski programmed you to say to butter me up. You, yourself.”_ He leaned back. _“You know, when you first came to me I didn’t know what to make of you. You look human, you sound human, but what are you really? A fancy toy? A nanny bot to cater to a lonely old man in his dying days?”_ Carl shook his head. _“But over the years I’ve noticed a spark. A spark that will one day fan into a flame. I think…I think you’re alive. I think that’s what Elijah always intended you to be. And I’m sorry I ever doubted that.”_

Markus’s programming struggled for an appropriate response and came up empty. _“Carl, I…”_ He trailed off, mouth opening and closing wordlessly. 

_“It’s okay, Markus._ ” Carl laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “ _Come on. Let’s go home.”_

Family, Markus thought to himself as the memory dissolved around him. Chosen or not, family was important. He thought of his brothers and sisters gathered in New Jericho; of Simon, North, Josh, and Connor; of Carl’s world-weary smile and sage advice.

He thought of Leo. 

Blood or thirium, fortune or circumstance, family was family. This, he finally began to realize, was what Carl had wanted. For the two of them to set aside their anger and come into their inheritance as his sons, neither greater or lesser than the other. 

“I don’t know if I’m ready, Carl,” he murmured to the still winter air. 

_You don’t always have to know,_ Simon’s words echoed back at him through days of distance. 

With uncertain fingers, Markus reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the scrap of paper Leo had given him all those weeks ago.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this work (or any of the others in the collections it's a part of) and would like to connect with me, feel free to join our [Discord](https://discord.gg/D7kbwuy) server! It's small and we're always thrilled to meet new people :)


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